Bread and Circuses
by visceralfringe
Summary: Madame Hydra has a new pet.
1. Chapter 1

_Greater Siberia—49 years ago._

"mm," Ophelia Sarkissian, the Viper, Madame Hydra, Lady Russia, and Mistress of Moscow hummed when she raised her pearl jade eyes to see the Asset, painted with gore, standing in the doorway to her study. "You're home, moy pitomets."

After being stripped of weapons that would never truly belong to him and unloaded from the van, the Asset had been escorted inside her lavish country mansion, hunkered down in the snowy hills of Caucasas, by an armed triple. The sight of her flooded him with belonging, and the something sinister ever lurking uncoiled a little.

_Mistress mine._

It had been precisely three weeks, sixteen hours, fifty one minutes and five seconds since he had seen her last. Everything ached. While he desperately yearned to go to her, he knew better than to make a move without her permission.

"Tak zhe, kak lyuboy khoroshiy sobakoy~. You've done so well." She tossed a file aside and stood, snakeskin boots brimming above her knees.

"I'm so sorry for the mess, Madame," one of the STRIKE members babbled, breath labored. The Asset despised the scent of his sweat. The man cradled his left arm. Several of his fingers stuck out crookedly. "We tried to take them from it, but it wouldn't fork them over."

The Asset's arm recalibrated with the fresh wave of rage in his nerves, tightening his grasp on the sacks he held. Thoroughly saturated, red puddled on the glossy marble beneath them.

Mistress smiled. "Yest' te, dlya menya?" she asked, eyeing the three sacks, bulging and bloody, hanging from his hand.

He nodded. Yes, they were for her. Only her.

She zeroed in on the young STRIKE member, exuding all the kindness of the bloodthirsty shark. "Him, you idiot. Not it."

But only with her. To all else, the Asset had no gendered pronoun. Only to her.

"And of course he didn't. I told him to bring the organs to me. Didn't I, pet?"

The Asset nodded affirmation stiffly, his heart rate accelerating.

Mistress chuckled indulgently and withdrew the sacks from his possession. The Asset relinquished them without question, much to the apparent resentment of the wounded man. Then, lacking all tenderness, she thrust the sacks into the STRIKE member's mangled arms.

The Asset listened to the man wheeze in pain. The Asset liked that sound.

"You're new here," Mistress hissed to the STRIKE member. "And I suppose you've learned your lesson," she mumbled, sharp eyes flickering to his injury. "This—" With a flourish of her hand, she placed her palm on the Asset's leather plated chest. He surrendered with a shudder and a growl of a groan. "Is a creature of instinct. He requires special, delicate handling. It's natural for males to despise other males for competitive reasons, and serve the female. That's why Johan entrusted him to me." Her hand slipped up into his hair.

Dazed from the affection he seldom received-and enormously grateful-the Asset leaned into her fingers as they combed and caressed.

"He's more animal than man. More creature than human kin. And he wouldn't hesitate to kill every last one of you, if I ordered it."

The Asset's focus remained locked on her face. He wouldn't miss a second, no time even in the smallest measurement, to look at her, hoping she would look at him. Typically vacant eyes pleading for approval, he stood as a stone sentry at the threshold.

"Now. Assuming you're not completely incompetent, I want the three of you to deliver these packages to Zola. And collect my payment while you're at it."

"Yes, Madame," Wounded grouched.

The second STRIKE member spoke while the other two turned to leave. "What about i—him?" he asked, indicating the Asset with the butt of his gun.

Mistress smirked. "He's absolutely fine right where he is. I want him with me. Now go." With fluttering fingers painted in forest black, she dismissed them. "I'm tired of looking at you."

Dutifully, the STRIKE team stalked away. The Asset listened to the sounds of their boots grow fainter down the corridor.

Finally, Mistress met his eyes.

"There there, now. You're home. Vy sdelali khorosho dlya menya, moy domashneye zhivotnoye~." Mistress carefully removed the black mask, the muzzle, from his face. "You must be hungry."

Another, more hesitant nod.

"Well." She smiled. "What are you waiting for?" And gestured solicitously to the pool of blood by his boot. "Pitaytes' khorosho."

* * *

Pitaytes' khorosho = Eat well. The rest are patronizing little comments and sweet talk. I have no idea what I'm going. I just NEED more of this in my life. Fic idea came from Cherry Bomb, an amazing piece of art on Archive of Our Own.

Yes, I live. Will I be updating my other fics? I have absolutely no idea.


	2. Chapter 2

Ophelia Sarkissian-Madame Hydra, The Viper, Lady Russia, Mistress of Moscow, and a breed of fiend all her own-watched as her living weapon adjusted his feet, knelt, stooped to the floor, and began to lap the blood off her travertine tile.

It wasn't a punishment necessarily. He seemed to like it well enough.

She had been very pleased by his strict dedication to her directions. Adherence to explicit instructions loomed the foremost stipulation of his effectiveness. She turned a smile, observing his large leathered shoulders shift and surrender to the task. He made no shudder-uttered no complaint. And the delicious gush of gratefulness oozing from his eyes when she had granted him attention made her shiver in pleasure.

"Good," she praised. While alone, she spoke to him in Russian only.

Once he had finished, he lifted his head. Blood glossed his glorious lips, drizzling down his chin in rivets. The shadow of neglect by a razor hung over his jaw. She thought it gave him a certain seductive sort of rustic quality. Johan and Zola had insisted he stay clean shaven for scientific observation and study. She had other preferences. The Asset had become less a lab rat and more a trophy since her inheritance of him. And he seemed to like that well enough too.

His knees remained rooted to the floor, clothed in black fatigues and combat pads. She would need to inspect him for any damages concealed under his uniform-evidence that her asset may have been misused by lesser HYDRA vermin. Now that she reflected seriously, he had seemed severely tormented when he first appeared, which was cause enough for suspicion.

"I think it's time for a bath, don't you?" she purred. "You've done so well. You deserve some tender treatment." As she reached forward, she slipped her fingers into his hair and watched his well-muscled body relax under her touch, instantly responsive in the way she had so meticulously conditioned him. As much a pet as a common Huskie, she always made sure that the Asset knew his place. She never left him wondering, or uncertain for too long. A state of constant anxiety fostered fear. Irrational fear made for a lousy attack dog.

"Yes. Bath time. Then I'll feed you," she promised.

Draped in her satin winter green robe, Ophelia dotted on her dog.

Her bathroom, lavishly furnished and loaded with finery, encompassed the expanse of a small house. She said nothing as she carefully ran a sponge over his large, calloused hands to scrub the blood from his nails. Naked as the day he was born, he sat in her bathtub, filled halfway with warm water after he had been given a cursory rinse under the shower. It wouldn't do to have him wallow in the filth she wanted to wipe away, encased in the porcelain tomb like a rotting thing. His metal arm had been doctored and seen to moments before. His uniform would be scoured and laundered by the maid and medical staff. They saw to those menial things. The Asset himself was hers to look after.

Much to her satisfaction, she had found him unmarred by any other injustice. That was not always the case. No telling how many STRIKE members had suffered her wrath for mistreating her favorite toy. Occasionally, she let him see to the kills himself. _Imbeciles._

She could feel his eyes on her, watching. He wanted to speak. She could practically taste the desperation emanating for him, and it delighted her to deny him.

Pretty pets should be seen. Not heard.

To dominate such a powerful, beautiful creature made for an intoxicating high-one she thrived on. She had scented the water with sweet pine oil, a fragrance similar to the soap currently being lathered up between her hands. He had his own grooming products. She preferred honeypeel and pear for herself. Cherry blossom and vanilla every now and then.

Finally, she met his eyes. He regarded her as one would a precious jewel-the one true object of his sincerest affections and deepest devotion. Why, the lethal creature was a picture of bliss. It lit a fire in her gut-a roaring inferno of pride and approval-to possess such a dangerous animal.

"What?" she teased. She expected no answer aside from his adoring blink. Ophelia had trained him well never to speak unless she specifically commanded him to, utterly uninterested in the sound of any voice other than her own. Engrossed in her thoughts, she resumed cleaning him. Hands sliding over his flesh and rubbing the soap in, she made sure never to linger in one place too long, unless it required a more thorough rub down. In spite of the sway she held over him, Ophelia never deluded herself. Long hung the list of owners thought to be impervious to their exotic, enormous pets who were mauled and savagely ripped apart within a year's time. She kept a collar for him that could be activated with a word, sending a hundred volts straight to his spine.

After shampooing and conditioning, she dried and lotioned him, working the butter cream into his skin and focusing on the joining of his bionic arm to his flesh torso. She took a towel to his hair, tousling it to rid it of the lukewarm water and brushed his teeth.

He practically sparkled now.

"My. You look so handsome."

Seated at the foot of her vanity, he made no sound save for the occasional sigh of approval while she sat behind him on a clawfooted stool. Lastly, she clipped his collar into place and took a comb to his hair. His many muscles seemed to melt as he leaned into her, resting his cheek on her thigh.

Her voice dipped into a saccharine chuckle. "It is hard to imagine you as anything less than docile when you're like this," she mused. "But we know better, don't we, pet?"

He grunted.

Carefully, she curled her fingers around his chin and turned him to face her. With the critical eye of a diamond merchant, she appraised her work. Using her thumb, she pulled down his lower lip to inspect his teeth. "Flawless." She tapped his nose. "Now, pet, we eat."

* * *

Hydra Trash Party has RUINED my life.

#hailHYDRA


End file.
